


To Be A Healer In That Place

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Prostate Massage, Season/Series 01, Touch-Starved, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, but hannibal is hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was time for Will to see just how unconventional his therapist really was. He cleared his throat and said, "Being at the hospital made me realize, I haven’t had a check-up in a long time. I was thinking…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be A Healer In That Place

**Author's Note:**

> I owe this fic to an Anon who sent telerafairlyreie(.tumblr) an Ask about medfet. Thanks to both of you for the inspiration!

Hearing Jack shout his name, Hannibal raced to the open doors of the ambulance, with Will following close behind. Will watched intently as Hannibal leapt into the ambulance; he soon found his attention stolen from the organ harvester, hands buried in his most recent victim, in favor of Hannibal, who was shucking his suit jacket and unbuttoning his cuffs. Hannibal gave each sleeve three swift, efficient rolls, exposing his arms up to the elbows. The gesture was brusque, masculine, and for the first time Will noticed the cords of muscle above Hannibal’s slender wrists.

Hannibal snapped on one glove before sinking his hand into the victim’s body. At the sight of this, Will had a full-body shiver. The victim was so vulnerable, in as perilous a situation as a human could be in, and yet Will knew that he would be safe under Dr. Lecter’s care, seen to by those capable hands.

Seeing his ever immaculately-composed therapist transformed into a disheveled but unfazed surgeon before his eyes made Will’s breath catch. Jack escorted the organ harvester out of the vehicle, and the arrest commenced, away from the ambulance doors. Will stepped closer, without realizing he was doing so. It was only when Hannibal broke his concentration, and looked up to meet Will’s eyes, that Will felt suddenly confused and embarrassed about his own thoughts…though not chagrined enough to avert his eyes.

 

*****

 

When Will got the call about Tobias Budge’s whereabouts – his final whereabouts, it turned out – he was already crashing hard after the adrenaline high from his own showdown with Budge. He sat in his car, wounded hand freshly bandaged, and contemplated going straight home. But he decided instead to make his way to Hannibal’s office; he had to find out what had happened there.

Will expected a crime scene, and he got one – and not even his first one that day. God, he was exhausted. But what he did not expect to see was the expression on Hannibal’s face: a mixture of relief and…delight?...which Will was flattered to receive. Will sauntered past Jack and leaned gingerly against the edge of Hannibal’s desk, looking him over. There was blood at the corner of his mouth, and across the bridge of his nose. He was holding his right knee. But he uttered not a word about his own situation, instead saying, “I was worried you were dead.” He glanced at Will’s arm, which Will acknowledged with an awkward smirk.

“I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world,” Will said.

“I got here on my own,” Hannibal assured him. “But I appreciate the company.”

It had not occurred to Will that Hannibal felt one way or the other about his company – Hannibal could be a tough read – but hearing him say that he was happier for it filled Will with a strange joy. He wanted to stay here with Hannibal. Just now, even though he had nothing to do here, no way to help, he wanted to stay by Hannibal’s side. Police and medics continued to mill about, seemingly concerned with everything in the room except Hannibal, now that Jack had deemed him above suspicion. Will did not like their being around. He wished that there was no one else, that it was just him and Hannibal.

“Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?” he asked. “Get that knee looked at?”

Hannibal nodded towards Will’s bandaged hand. “A gracious offer, from someone who has just come from the hospital himself.”

Will looked at his arm and shrugged. “Well, you can be sure that I know where it is, then, huh?”

He didn’t know why he made the offer. He would get twenty minutes in the car with Hannibal, then a half-hour or more in a noisy, miserable waiting room, then maybe hours alone there while Hannibal was being treated. Then another meager twenty minutes’ drive back with him. Why would he volunteer to do this, when anyone else could have helped Hannibal get to the hospital, and saved Will – himself in less than stellar condition – so much time?

In any event, Hannibal took him up on the offer. The trip to the hospital was mostly silent, but Will did not mind; it was good just to have Hannibal to himself, right next to him, sucking the occasional sharp breath between his teeth when he felt a pain in his wounds. Will allowed himself his own small hisses of discomfort, when he moved his hand on the steering wheel and made the lacerations on his hand sting.

“They didn’t give you painkillers?” Hannibal asked.

“They offered,” Will replied. “I refused. I feel crazy enough as it is lately, without being off my tits on drugs besides.”

“Hm.” The car fell silent again.

Hours later, Will was driving Hannibal home, in the dark now; it was nearly ten. Will felt more like there should be talking now; he was always susceptible to the intimacy of driving together at night.

“Is it galling to be a medical doctor and to have to go be treated at a hospital by someone else?” he asked.

“Going to the hospital is no one’s preferred activity,” Hannibal said diplomatically.

“Fair point. Do you, ah, I mean, since that night in the ambulance, have you been thinking of when you were a physician? You mentioned it when I stopped by before that dinner party.”

“A little. There are some good memories, of people I helped.”

“People whose lives you saved?”

“Yes.” Hannibal had been gazing out the window, but now he looked at Will. Will couldn’t look back, he had to keep his eyes on the road, but he could feel Hannibal’s gaze. Hannibal asked, “Why do you bring it up? Are you thinking of someone who needs saving?”

Will shifted in his seat, tried to make it look like he was just sitting up straighter. He forgot his injury, gripping the steering wheel harder and then wincing. He was tired of feeling this uncertainty. It was time to see just how unconventional his therapist really was. Will cleared his throat. “Being at the hospital made me realize, I haven’t had a check-up in a long time. And, you remember the other night, when I told you I was feeling unstable? I don’t know how much of what’s going on is really real, you know? How much is physical and how much is just in my head. I was thinking…”

“You were thinking, if you were examined by a physician who is also a psychiatrist, you might get a more comprehensive evaluation.”

Will nodded sheepishly at Hannibal’s pinpoint accuracy. “Yeah, kind of.”

“I don’t have access to a venue for a conventional physical exam, only my office. But if you found that satisfactory, I do still have some tools of the trade there.”

“That’d be fine, yeah.” That was easy. Will risked a quick glance at Hannibal. “But I mean, you’re okay with my asking this?”

“Two men were killed in that office today. I was gravely injured myself. All of that hurt, in that place, it unsettles me. But, particularly in light of what happened in the ambulance, and being reminded of how it feels to heal, I think it would be therapeutic for me as well, to be a healer in that place. I would not only be amenable to it, but grateful for the opportunity. You will be my last appointment on Thursday, as usual…?”

“Good, okay. Thursday it is.” They were approaching Hannibal’s home now. Will offered to see him inside, and Hannibal accepted. They got out of the car, and Will walked Hannibal to his door.

“I would gladly repay today’s kindness with a meal,” Hannibal said, “if you’ll stay.”

“I’ve got to get home to my dogs,” Will replied, shoving his hands in his pockets for lack of anything else to do in this awkward moment. “There’s no one else to let them out.”

Hannibal took out his keys, opened the front door. “I understand. I won’t keep you much longer. But if you would walk around the house with me, to make sure there is no one else here?”

Will found this request amusing. First off, considering what had happened with his chimney, he was probably not the best person to advise on who was or was not present in a house. And second, even with a knee injury, Will suspected that Hannibal was probably still perfectly capable of neutralizing an intruder. But he was charmed by the request, and walked with Hannibal from room to room, including many rooms he had not seen before: well-appointed bathrooms, the luxurious master suite. It would normally have been enough to raise Will’s class-conscious hackles, but he felt enough fondness for Hannibal, he let it slide. Instead, alone in this spacious house with Hannibal, being invited to see inside private rooms, he felt just a hint of the same intimate tension he’d felt with Alana, that night she’d visited him.

Driving home, Will had time to mull over what had happened. He was no fool; he did not think for one second that Hannibal couldn’t see through his request. The fact that Hannibal so readily accepted the proposal told him not that Hannibal was providing him some generous, unsuspecting indulgence. Better than that, it told him that Hannibal might be feeling the same burgeoning, if still somewhat uneasy, attraction. And this just made Will feel what he felt even more powerfully; to know that such a sentiment was mutual made pursuing it irresistible.

 

*****

 

Will arrived on time to his appointment, and Hannibal received him with the usual aplomb. He took Will’s coat and invited him to sit on the psychiatrist’s couch, nearer the window, rather than the chair Will usually sat in. He had draped a sheet over it just prior to Will’s arrival, rendering its appearance slightly more clinical, and slightly less Mies van der Rohe. He had also moved two floor lamps closer to the couch for more light.

“How is your hand?” Hannibal asked, as he hung Will’s coat on the rack by the door.

“Better. The nurse who wrapped it told me I should be able to take the bandages off today.”

“I can take care of that for you, while you’re here.”

“That’d be great, yeah.”

Hannibal wheeled his desk chair around, and sat down in it, facing Will. On his other chair, Will noticed, Hannibal had placed a rigid leather bag, an old-fashioned doctor’s bag, making it seem as though he were prepared to make house calls.

“But first,” Hannibal said, “let us discuss the other concerns that you’ve been having. You and I have had many conversations about the circumstances you’ve endured these last few weeks, but I would like you to talk to me now as you would any physician whom you were seeing for the first time.”

Will was unsure where to start. “Okay, well, I’ve been having headaches for about two months now. Not every day, but most days, and worse than I’ve ever had before. And sometimes I see things, and I’m not sure if they’re actually there. Hearing things, too. Auditory hallucinations.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s very concerning indeed. Have you noticed that these hallucinations correspond to the amount of sleep you’ve been getting?”

“I haven’t been sleeping much, that’s for sure. And when I do, I sleepwalk. I haven’t sleepwalked since I was a kid.”

“Any fever?”

“Sometimes. I take aspirin for the headaches, and that usually takes care of the fever a little bit, too.”

“How many aspirin do you take each day?”

Will cringed, knowing the answer was a bad one. “Six or eight? Or ten, sometimes?”

Hannibal rattled off a list of other routine complaints – digestive, respiratory, vascular – asking if Will suffered from any of them, but Will shook his head at each one. Hannibal rolled his chair back to where the bag sat, took a penlight from it, and rolled back to Will, shining the light in his eyes to observe his pupil dilation. He asked Will to grasp his hand, found his grip strength satisfactory. He tapped on Will’s knee with a reflex hammer, and observed that it reacted appropriately. He gave Will some instructions: “Shrug your shoulders.” “Turn your head to the left, and now to the right.” “Clench your jaw tightly.” And so on. All Will’s cranial nerves appeared to be in working order.

“I can rule out several things,” Hannibal said, as he got up from his chair and sat next to Will on the couch. “But the full physical examination should help us identify the problem, so we’ll begin now, if you’re ready.”

Will made an affirmative gesture, then sat up straight, a shallow effort at being a model patient. Hannibal reached up to touch Will’s scalp, threading his fingers slowly through Will’s hair. “Any hair loss?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“No, you don’t appear to have any patchy areas.” Hannibal lingered overlong, his fingertips pushing against the direction of hair growth in a way that sent tingles down Will’s spine. Will hoped Hannibal would say more bland things in a level tone. It was quite calming.

Hannibal’s hands smoothly transitioned to Will’s neck, feeling for swollen glands. The way he cupped Will’s throat with his warm, bare fingers felt heavenly, so simple but so lovely and soothing. “Any pain here?”

“Nuh-uh.”

Hannibal had Will open his mouth, and gently explored his lips, gums, and tongue. All throughout, he explained what he was doing, and shared his findings, most of which were favorable. Will feared he might jump out of his own skin, it was so unbearably intimate.

“Let’s have those bandages off now, and then we’ll do your pulse and blood pressure.” Rather than ask Will to roll up his sleeve himself, Hannibal did it for him, unbuttoning the cuff and folding the sleeve neatly over itself until enough of Will’s arm was exposed to unwrap the dressings. He smoothly peeled the tape until he could begin to roll the bandage back, around and around, revealing Will’s hand to be pink and tender in a few places but free of infection and unlikely to scar badly.

Hannibal set the bandage aside, then proceeded with his examination. He grasped Will’s wrist in his hand, and took its pulse with his watch. For ten seconds, Will savored his uninterrupted touch, professional and delicate. But it wasn’t just Hannibal’s hands that were thrilling  – his whole body was just so close, his physical presence pleasantly overwhelming, strength and body heat and crisp, masculine cologne. Will wondered if his excitement was skewing the data Hannibal was currently collecting. If that were so, Hannibal said nothing about it.

At the end of the ten seconds, Hannibal dropped Will’s wrist and opened the leather bag. From it, he took a sphygmomanometer. He set it in his lap, then rolled Will’s sleeve up higher, so that he could place the cuff on it. Will watched Hannibal squeeze the bulb and inflate the cuff until the pressure on his arm became uncomfortable, then release it. “One-fifty over ninety-five. That’s quite high, but not surprising, considering your lifestyle and poor diet.”

Next, Hannibal took a stethoscope from his bag. He hooked the earpieces around his neck, then told Will, “I’m just going to unbutton your shirt, so I can listen to your breathing.” Will helped by untucking the shirt, but Hannibal undid the buttons, then had Will turn away from him. He tugged the hem of Will’s t-shirt up, undressing him only as much as he needed to in order to get the stethoscope on his bare skin. Very professional.

“Deep breaths,” Hannibal instructed as, for the first time, he listened to what was going on inside Will’s body, the flow of air into and out of his lungs. He listened for a few breaths longer than Will remembered a doctor ever doing before, until he started to worry that something was amiss.

But finally, Hannibal said, “Excellent,” took the earpieces out, and proceeded to palpate Will’s back, checking his spine and muscles for tenderness. “Turn and face me again,” he instructed, and inspected Will’s chest using the same palpation and percussion. He put the stethoscope back on, listened to his breathing some more, lingered over Will’s heartbeat, then touched his neck again, observing the blood vessels there. Finally, he pushed his hands up under Will’s rucked-up shirt to feel the lymph nodes in his armpits. Even that felt good to Will, not odd or invasive at all. He just kept watching Hannibal’s face, impassive and mild, and everything was safe and comfortable. He worried for a moment about seeming pathetic, being so deeply affected by such simple touches, but Hannibal was going about it in a way that helped him stop overanalyzing and just enjoy it.

“I’m going to ask you to lie down for me now,” Hannibal said, removing the stethoscope and returning it to the bag. He stood up, so that Will could stretch out on the couch, and pulled the chair over, so he could sit while he examined Will’s abdomen.

Will squirmed when Hannibal tugged the hem of his shirt up over his ribs again; he couldn’t help it, it just felt so clinical and sexy at the same time. It was the latter because it was also the former. Hannibal used both light and deep palpation to feel the outlines of Will’s organs. Will tensed up, expecting it to tickle, but then it didn’t; Hannibal was very skilled indeed, and Will only felt a soft pulse of lust, as those hands caressed his belly. Satisfied with what he felt, Hannibal took up the stethoscope once more, pressed it to Will’s stomach to listen to his borborygmi.

When he had finished, he pulled Will’s t-shirt down over his belly and said, “Everything seems to be just fine. You may sit up.” As Will did so, Hannibal went on, “If we proceed, I must ask you to remove your clothing entirely. I’ll leave it up to you. This is your exam.”

Not something a physician would normally say. But at the moment, Will felt perfectly comfortable doing this; he enjoyed being the object of Hannibal’s methodical attention and was prepared to submit to most anything in order to prolong it. He did, however, feign a tiny amount of reluctance, putting some hesitation into his nod. “Okay,” he said, “that’s fine.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a gown handy, but I have a blanket, so you can cover up whatever I am not currently examining.”

“Sure.” Will reached down to remove his shoes and socks, then stood up to undress. He folded everything neatly, stacking it on the glass end table. Hannibal brought Will a thin, utilitarian blanket, precisely what a hospital would have on hand, and Will sat back down on the couch, unfurled the blanket, and draped it over his lap.

“Go ahead and lie back down again, as you were before,” Hannibal said. Will arranged the blanket as he did so, as if he were going to sleep under it. Hannibal moved his chair closer to Will’s feet, and gently lifted the blanket, folding it over and over, exposing Will’s feet, legs, and thighs. He inspected them for swelling, for any unusual marks or growths, and took his pulse in several locations. Occasionally he would give the larger muscle areas a few good, firm squeezes, as though he were massaging them, but his touches remained perfectly clinical. Then he folded the blanket over one more time, exposing Will’s genitals.

It suddenly occurred to Will that he had not thought this part through, entirely. “Um,” he said, “is it normal if I get an erection? I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” ( _The correct idea_ , he thought.)

Hannibal was unconcerned. “It’s certainly been known to happen. But it doesn’t reflect on you personally. I have to do certain things to do my job, but I understand that sometimes that means it’s going to do its job.”

Will snorted at this, but he was somewhat relieved. Hannibal used careful fingers to check his inguinal lymph nodes, inspect his groin for hernias, palpate his scrotum, and lift his penis, and Will allowed himself to relax into it. By now he was accustomed to Hannibal’s touch; he trusted it, and he accepted the slight redirection of blood flow as Hannibal’s warm hands cupped and manipulated him.

Afterward, Hannibal folded the blanket neatly down over him, all the way to his ankles. Then he folded the other end of the blanket up, and did the same to his arms and chest as he had done to his legs, feeling his muscles, inspecting his moles, assessing the texture of his flesh. “Your skin is very fair,” he observed. “You must be vigilant about any changes to any moles you may have. If they get darker, or larger, be sure to see someone about it.”

“Uh huh,” Will said. He was entirely unperturbed now, happily relinquishing control, allowing Hannibal to touch his body in whatever way he saw fit.

Hannibal noticed this, and changed his tone, just slightly, to make sure he had Will’s full attention. “Now, to facilitate this last examination,” he announced, “if we had a standard examination table, I would ask you to bend forward over it. But since we are working with this couch, I must ask you instead to get on your hands and knees.”

Will nodded complacently. He felt detached, like he had left his body, but in an entirely pleasant way, almost euphoric. He pulled the blanket aside and slowly turned himself to comply with Hannibal’s request. He watched as Hannibal took a blue nitrile glove and a pump-bottle of medical lubricant from the bag.

“Most patients find this part a bit uncomfortable, but it should not be painful,” Hannibal said as he put on the glove, careful not to let it snap disconcertingly. “Let me know immediately if you find it so.” He pumped some lubricant onto his fingers, but did not touch Will right away. He rubbed his fingers with his thumb, to warm up the lube. Only then did he gently pull Will’s cheeks further apart with his other hand, and instruct, “Deep breath,” before inserting his index finger.

He was gentle but firm, and Will grunted at the intrusion. As Hannibal pushed in as far as he could manage, he slowly rotated his finger, having a good thorough feel around. He easily found Will’s prostate with the tip of his finger, and pressed all around it, painstakingly assessing its condition. “Everything feels very healthy,” he said. But he did not stop rubbing. He twisted and crooked his finger, continuing to massage Will deeply inside.

And Will did not protest; he even pushed back, just a little, because he couldn’t help it. In response, Hannibal eased a second finger in, eliciting a shaky rush of breath from Will. Every nerve in his body tingled, every sensation was magnified: the cotton sheet growing damp with perspiration beneath his knees and elbows, Hannibal’s other hand as it steadied him. Will was actually glad he was positioned the way he was, where Hannibal could not see how helplessly flushed he was, pink and hot from his hairline to his sternum. As he trembled, Will could feel a trickle of pre-come sliding out of his urethra. “Unh, I just dripped on your sheet, I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” Hannibal said, with no hitch in his rhythm as he reached down to touch the wet tip of Will’s prick with the pad of his finger. “That’s a good thing. It shows that you are, as I surmised, a vigorous young man with a healthy sex drive.”

“Am I?” Will panted desperately, his thighs quivering. “Am I healthy? Do I really feel good inside?”

“You feel exquisite,” Hannibal said. “There’s just one more function I’d like to see you perform, before I can be certain that you are in satisfactory physical condition.” His hand left Will’s aching cock just long enough to pump some lube onto it, then returned. Soon, he was stroking Will inside and out, with both hands in perfect concert. Will sobbed and swore his way to a shuddering climax, squeezing helplessly around Hannibal’s fingers as he ejaculated onto the rumpled sheet.

Hannibal continued to stroke him, but slower and gentler now, until at last he drew his fingers out, took his hands away. He removed the glove from one hand and wiped the other hastily on the corner of the sheet.

“You did very well,” he said, his tone dry and professional to the very end.

Will let his knees go and collapsed to one side, laying crumpled there until Hannibal helped him stand up. Hannibal took away the damp sheet, then asked Will how he felt.

“Good,” Will said, swaying back and forth slightly. “Sleepy and good.”

“Would you like to have a nap before you leave?”

“That’d be nice, yeah. But not too long. My dogs.”

“Of course.” Hannibal picked up the blanket from where Will had discarded it and swaddled him with it before guiding him back down onto the couch, handling his languid body with care. He adjusted the pillow under Will’s head, assuring him, “I will wake you in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Will murmured. He was sleeping soundly inside of a minute.

 

*****

 

Will was awoken by the morning light, diffused by the sheer curtains. He sat up in a panic, confused about where he was. He threw off the blanket, then realized he was naked, and snatched it back.

Hannibal, who had been sitting in his chair nearby, got up and came to his side, “Stay calm, Will,” he said. “You fell asleep here last night after your exam, do you remember?” He stroked Will’s hair to soothe him.

Will struggled to remember, or more accurately, struggled to determine whether it was indeed a memory, or a dream. “Did that happen?” he said, still groggy.

“It did.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Ten hours. It’s nine o’clock.”

“Oh my God, I only meant to take a nap. My dogs—”

“Are just fine. I called Alana and asked her to see to them. I told her it would be a favor to me, not to you. I felt that you needed the sleep more than you needed to go home to them. Which leads me to ask: How do you feel this morning?”

Will stopped panicking long enough to take a deep breath and look around. Only then did he notice: “I feel great. I can’t remember the last time I slept that well. I feel really refreshed.” He looked Hannibal up and down. “What about you? Did you stay here all night?”

“I did. I got some paperwork done, and I managed a little sleep, but mostly I watched over you.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” Will said, though inside he found it thrilling.

“Do not trouble yourself about it. Your well-being is my greatest concern.”

Will wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself, then looked to Hannibal. “You never gave me your prognosis last night, Doctor.”

“Based on my observations,” Hannibal replied matter-of-factly, “I believe your ailments can all be attributed to exhaustion. What you need is eight hours of sleep a night, less coffee, and more nutritious food. The latter we can get started on for you immediately, if you like. Get yourself dressed, and I will take you to my house and cook you breakfast. I don’t have any appointments until late this afternoon.”

Will leaned over to pick up his clothes from the end table, but then just held them in his lap for a moment. “No one’s ever cared for me this way before,” he said with a hint of melancholy, gazing at the floor.

Hannibal smiled and patted Will’s knee. “There’s a bathroom through that door if you’d like some privacy,” he said tenderly. “Now go get dressed. Breakfast awaits.”

 


End file.
